The Arkansaw traveler., 1887-12-31


 close our ears to their music; but there comes time when we wish for the dear old sounds; then, only mem- ory can call them back, their first sweetness is all marred, it's only their echo we listen to when older years have moved into our lives.
 Let us fancy we hear them now. It may warm our hearts, away out here amid mining camps and smelting fur naces, hedged in by the everlasting rush for gold.
 Just come in by the back gate, walk up the path leading to the kitchen door in the old homestead, nestled down so quietly among the hills of New England.
 Over the garden fence you must step on the old stile, where you sat many a bright Saturday afternoon with brother, sisters or mother and told over the childish stories with a heart full ot joy. The very creak of your footsfep on that old stile has 8 tone in it now, you never heard be- fore. How it's music thrills your very soul! You are alone. How imagination runs backward to the scenes of twenty years ago. You may almost hear the whispering tone in your ear" take off thy shoes, the place whereon thou standest is holy ground" It's home to you, and sure it is that with rever- ence you place your feet on the next step, descending to the music from that tone-creak-creak-creak.
 It's the month of roses. No month but June, has such perfect air to carry the fragrance from the beds of flower s on either side of your path-mother planted them there-her hands have watered and cared for them all these years, while away down in her heart has been the quiet and unheard tone, never uttered, that you would some day come in just as you are now con- ing. Have those flowers no tones for your listening ears? Yes, yes, their only theme is another" ;" they never seemed so bright, never smelt half so sweet as now, and yet they were the same twenty years ago.
 Turning about to pick one of those beautiful pinks, and watching the graceful swinging to and fro of those peoples, you hear the sound of foot steps; nearer, nearer the sounds come to you. Stepping back to the graveled walk, about to start once more to the house, you are face to face-"Luke p "Mother 1"
 With her loving arms on your broad shoulders, and her head with silver threads among the golden hair, gently nestling on your breast, the moments are passed without word more. What other words could give such a halo to the melody of this happy meeting? The tears of joy chasing each other down the cheeks are only the sublimer variations which so holy theme can only pro- duce.
 Does mothers love awaken a chord in your heart and stir up tones in which the music of paradise is setp Listen to them while life lasts and they will fall with sweet cadence in your soul on the other shore.
 Arm in arm you slowly move to the old homestead-it's the same old porch you trod when boy of ten, the same ivy creeps in and out of the lat tice work, the leaves are just as green as the day you said Good bye, mother" and started for the mines of gold. Mother draws the old splint- seated rocker toward you. "Ah, Luke, see you are looking for the splints, but long, long ago they gave out, and father put the board seat in and made the cushion. Be seated :; the rockers are just the same. I re- member how you used to climb into this old rocker and rock, rock, rock. My, oh, my! that was fifteen long years ago. An, Luke, knew you'd come back. Now, tell me all you have seen, and what you have done. No, no wait till father comes in from the field, and after supper we'll talk it over together"
 Rocking back and forth in that old chair what an avalanche of undertones come swelling up in your heart.
 "Luke, father is just coming in the front door. Do not rise, see if he will know you"
 Well, mother, supper is not quite ready. Let me see, where is the pa- peri"
 "Father, there's gentleman on the back porch who wishes to see you"
 Good evening, sir. Who have the pleasure of inviting to our quiet home, and to-"
 You rise, and with extended hand and earnest look, say "Father-"
 "My boy. Luke, welcome home" "
 He opposed your going away, but his greeting, though less ardent than mothers, brings to your mind many kind tones in his gentle voice which you listened to with pleasure in the long, long ago.
 That fl irat s, pY,er at home for A fl fooo